


Patch'd with Cloth of Many Colours

by Ambrose



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6789028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrose/pseuds/Ambrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone in Verona insists on wearing those damn house colours, and Benvolio accidentally, then not so accidentally defies the unspoken rules. </p><p>(cross-posted from tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patch'd with Cloth of Many Colours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tveckling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/gifts).



> I guess I'm keeping with the tradition of botched/out of context Shakespeare quotes as titles!

Montague tended to wear blue, Capulets red. No-one really did know how it happened, but after a few years of fighting, people had rallied to the old coats of arms, and the clothes had become a way to recognize your allies, a way of bonding over common hatred.

Benvolio hated it. And if after a night spent in Tybalt’s bed, he got dressed in the dark to escape the Capulet estate before dawn, and accidentally put on the wrong shirt, he did not try to change as soon as possible. He had, at first, been afraid, ashamed, somehow – he hated that even more – but now made it a habit, whether it was Tybalt’s clothes or some he bought himself, to always have something red on him. Even if it was the lining of a coat, a handkerchief or a pair of socks that no-one would see – small rebellions that meant nothing to anyone but him, but made him feel better, made him feel that maybe he didn’t have to follow like another sheep the orders to hate and to fight.

Tybalt picked up on it, he knew, even if he didn’t say anything. He knew because Tybalt started doing the same. There was nothing so amusing – and endearing – as watching him put on blue socks with a determined look that said “I’ll fight anyone who comments on it”, even though no-one would ever see them.

Mercutio knew before Tybalt, of course, he’d always been that perceptive. And sharing both their beds had only helped. He insisted on wearing purple himself after that started, a shade right between the two. Not that he wouldn’t side, everyone knew that on the plaza he would fight among his Montague friends and wouldn’t pass a chance to try his wits at the Capulets’ expense. There was no such bold statement of peace-keeping, or peaceful revolt against the fights he always enjoyed so much. No, they both knew it meant something quite different, something more intimate. It meant he was theirs, to both of them equally. Those secret meanings and hidden pieces of clothing were the only signs, the silent bearers of a relationship that they couldn’t display to the world.

It was only fitting that it was with that red handkerchief that Tybalt had given him, that Benvolio tried to prevent the blood from seeping out of Mercutio’s body after the accident happened. Tybalt who, he knew, would have given everything to be by their side as his last breath left Mercutio’s body. Tybalt who could not help turning around to make sure his lover was okay – Benvolio saw the worry in his eyes before it was replaced by pain, and he rushed to his side too, the handkerchief still in his hand when Tybalt pressed it in his own, beckoning him closer in the deserted plaza to ask him how badly Mercutio was hurt. “He’s fine, it’s just a scratch,” he lied, trying to soothe him. “you’ll be okay too. I’m here.” But Tybalt’s hands fell limp around his, and the blood-soaked handkerchief was all Benvolio had left of them.


End file.
